THE MISSION IN CHINATOWN
About two years previous to my wife's death a man, Mr. H. Gould, called
on me and asked me if I was the Ranney that was converted on the Bowery.
I said, "Yes, I was saved about ten years ago." He said, "I've a
proposal to make. I hear you are a natural-born leader of men, and I
think you look it. I'm one of the trustees of the Midnight Mission in
Chinatown. It's a hard place, but will you come and take charge of it? I
can't keep any one there longer than a few weeks; they get drunk or are
licked or done up some way. I want some one with backbone; will you take
it?" I thanked him. He had said enough to make any one refuse a job like
that, but I knew all the ins and outs of that quarter, and I thought
I'd like the work. I asked God's guidance, and I spoke with Mr.
Dennison, the pastor of the Church of Sea and Land, and he said it was
wonderful the way God was leading me. "Go and see what it's like," he
said. "Try it. You can run the church also, but if you see you can't get
along, give it up."
My wife and boy were planning to go on a visit to Ireland to see if it
would improve her health, and when I told her of Mr. Gould's proposal
she did not want me to go: she was afraid I'd get killed. But I said it
would help to pass the time away until she came back. So in 1900 I took
charge of the Chinatown Midnight Mission, remained there six years, and
left to be a lodging-house missionary.
I well remember the first night. There sat some of the old gang. They
gave me the glad hand, and asked me if I was going to be the bouncer; if
so, I could count on them. I said. "Yes, I'm to be the 'main guy,'
bouncer, etc." They were pleased, and gave me credit of always being on
the level. I made lots of friends while there.
LEADING A MEETING
I never had to use force to keep order but once while in that Mission. I
had been in charge two months or so when I got notice that the leader
would not be there that night, so it was up to me to lead the meeting.
I'll never forget that night. There are some things a person can't
forget, and that was one of them.
It was snowing and very cold outside, and the Mission was packed with
men and a few women. These poor creatures had no place to go, no home;
they were outcasts, there through various sins, but mostly through love
of rum. I hoped some visitor would come in and I would get him to lead,
but no one came, and it was up to me to give the boys a talk. I had
never forgotten my first sermon at the church, so, asking God to help
me, I went on the platform. I read the story of the Prodigal Son. That
was easy; the hard part was to come later on. I asked if some one would
play the piano, and a young fellow came up that looked as though he
hadn't had a meal or slept in a bed in a month, but when he touched the
keys I knew he was a master. I found out later that he was a prodigal,
had left home, spent all, and was on the Bowery living on the husks.
We began by singing a hymn, after which I got up and began to talk to
the men. I gave my testimony, how God had saved me from a life of
crookedness and crime, and that I was no better than the worst man on
the Bowery, except by the grace of God. There was one big fellow sitting
in the front row who was trying to guy me. While I was talking he would
make all sorts of remarks, such as, "Oh, what do you know about it? Go
away back and sit down," etc. I asked him to keep still or he would
have to get out. I went on trying to talk, but that man would always
answer back with some foolish remark. He was trying to stop the
meeting--so he told me afterwards.
There I was. I could not go on if he did, and I told him that when I got
through I would give him a chance to talk. Now there were over four
hundred men looking at me, wondering what I would do. Some of my old
pals shouted, "Put him out, Danny!" and the meeting was in an uproar. I
knew if I did not run that meeting, or if I showed the "white feather,"
I was done as a leader or anything else connected with that place. I
said to him, "My friend, if you don't keep still I'll make an example of
you." I could have called the police and had him locked up, but I didn't
want any one to go behind bars and know that I had him put there. I had
been there and that was enough. I've never had one of these poor men
arrested in my life. I used kindness.
I began to talk again, and he started in again, but before he got many
words out of his mouth I gave him a swinging upper cut which landed on
the point of his jaw, lifting him about two feet, and down he went on
his back. My old pals came up to help, but I said, "Sit down, men; I can
handle two like that fellow." I called out a hymn; then I told him to
get up, and if he thought he could behave himself he might sit down, if
not, he could get out. Well, he sat down and was as good as could be.
That was the making of me. The men all saw it. They knew that I was one
of them, they saw that I could handle myself, and I never had any
trouble after that. And the man I hit is to-day one of my best friends.
I told the men that the Devil sent in one of his angels once in a while,
the same as to-night, to disturb the meeting-place of God. I said, "You
men would be a marker for God if you would only take a stand for God
and cut out your sins. I never in my palmy days disturbed a meeting,
drunk or sober. I always respected God's house. If I didn't like it I
went out, and I think, fellows, that's one of the reasons He picked me
up when I was away down in sin and made me what I am to-night. He will
do the same for any one here; why not give Him a chance?"
SOMETHING NEW
This was something new for the men. Here was a man that they knew, no
stranger, but one of themselves eight years before. He had been in
prison with them, drunk with them, stolen with them, and in fact had
done everything that they did, and now here he was telling his old pals
how they could be better men, how God would help them if they would only
give Him a chance.
God was with me that night. It didn't seem to be Ranney at all. I asked
who wanted to get this religion, who wanted me to pray for them, and
about seventy-five hands went up. A number of men came forward and took
a stand for Jesus. It was early in the morning when the meeting closed.
It was cold and snowing outside.
It is a hard matter to get these men to declare themselves, for they are
afraid of the laugh, but I told them not to mind that; that my pals gave
me the laugh when I started out. "If we are honest and have sand and
help ourselves after asking God's help," I told them, "we will take no
notice of a grin or a sneer. My companions wagged their heads when I
started out in the new life in September, 1892. They said, 'Oh, we'll
give Danny a couple of weeks. He's trying to work the missionary; he'll
be back again!' Don't you men see I'm still trusting? and there isn't a
man in the Mission right now that can say I'm not on the level, that
I've drank whiskey or beer or done an unmanly act since I gave my life
into His keeping. Why? Because I'm trusting, not in man or woman, but
I'm honestly trusting in God."
I was satisfied that among the whole roomful of men there were not half
a dozen that had a bed to sleep on that night. I didn't have the money
to put them to bed, but I departed from the rules, and calling them to
order, said, "Boys, how many of you would like to be my guest for the
night?" You ought to have seen them look at me! Never such a thing had
been known. It set them to thinking. The saloon-keeper wouldn't do it;
what did he care for them? I said, "Boys, I'm not doing this; I don't
want you to think so. It's God through me."
Many's the night after that I kept the Mission open and let the poor
fellows sleep there, on the chairs and on the floor, and they
appreciated it. I was winning them through kindness. When I was ready to
go home to my nice warm bed, I'd read them a little riot act telling
them there were always a few among a lot of men that would spoil a good
thing, ending up, "Be good, boys, and have a good sleep. Good-night,"
and they would say so heartily, "Good-night, Danny! God bless you and
keep you!"
Letting the men stay didn't cost me a cent, and there was a big fire to
keep them warm and it meant much to them, poor fellows. I had the Board
of Health get after me quite a few times, but I'd explain things to
them, and they would go away saying, "You're all right." Big hard men
said, "If people who want to do good would only get a place to house the
poor unfortunates, there would be less crime and misery." I knew that
was true, and I'm praying for the day when we can have just such a
place, and God is going to give it in His own good time.
I had won the boys, and I stayed in that Mission over six years and saw
lots of men and women saved and living good lives. Many times
well-dressed men will come into my place and say, "Mr. Ranney, don't you
know me?" and when I can't place them they will tell me how I was the
means of saving their lives by letting them stay in out of the cold, and
giving them a cup of coffee and a piece of bread in the morning. I could
count them by the hundreds. Praise His name!
A POOR OUTCAST
One night just as the doors opened, there came into the Mission a woman
who evidently had seen better days. She was one of the poor unfortunates
of Chinatown. She asked if she might sit down, as she was very tired and
did not feel well. "Go in, Anna," I said, and she went in and took a
seat. When I passed her way she said, "Mr. Ranney, will you please give
me a drink of water?"
Now this woman had caused me lots of trouble. She would get drunk and
carry on, but when sober she would be good and feel sorry. I gave her a
cup of water and she said, "Thank you, Dan, and may God bless you!" An
hour after that I gave her another cup, and she thanked me again,
saying, "God bless you for your patience!" The next time I looked at her
she had her head on the seat in front and I thought she was sleeping.
Now I never wake any sleepers. I feel that an hour's sleep will do them
good, for when the Mission closes and they go out they have no place to
sleep. They have to find a truck or a hallway or walk up and down the
Bowery all night. I've been there, and it takes one that has been
through the mill to sympathize with the "down-and-outs." So I did not
disturb this woman.
The meeting was over and the people were all out, when I noticed Anna
still in the same position. I went over and called her, and receiving no
answer shook her a little, but she never moved. I bent over and raised
her head; a pair of sightless eyes seemed to look at me, and I knew she
was dead. I never had such a start in my life. Two hours before
alive--now dead! I learned that she was from a town in Connecticut, of
good parents, who took her to her last resting-place in the family
plot--a wayward girl who ran away from home. Her "God bless you, Dan!"
still rings in my ears and her dead face I'll never forget.
Here was a case that, so far as I knew, did not come under the influence
of God's Spirit, and I could only say, "God have mercy on her poor
soul!" but there have been scores of other women whom I have been able
to reach and help by the grace of God. I shall never forget the "white
slave."
RESCUED FROM A DIVE
When I had charge of the Chinatown Mission a party of three came down to
see the sights and do a little slumming in the district, and they asked
me to show them around. Now there wasn't a hole or joint in Chinatown
or on the Bowery that I didn't know, but I didn't as a rule take women
to such places. I don't like the idea of their looking at other people's
misery, and there's nothing but woe and want to be seen when you go
slumming. Lots of it is brought on by the people themselves, but still
they are human and do not like to be looked at.
However, this night was an exception, and away we went to see the
sights. I took them to the Joss House--the temple where the Chinese pray
to Confucius--and other places down on Cherry Hill. But they wanted to
see something hard, so I took them to a place that I thought was hard
enough. If you were a stranger and went into this place and displayed a
roll of "the green" you would be done up.
We went into one of the worst places on the Bowery, the women being as
anxious to go as the rest. The waiter piloted us to a small round table,
and we sat down and called for some soda. I'd been there before to
bring out a man or a woman or a girl as the case might be, and was
pretty well known as "Sky-Pilot Dan."
The party with me were astonished and wondered how such things as they
saw could exist in a city like New York. There were all classes in the
place, sailors, men, women, and girls, who had lost all self-respect and
thought of nothing but the drink and the dance.
While sitting there the lady's attention was drawn to a girl at the next
table who sat there looking at the lady, with the tears streaming down
her cheeks. The lady said, "Mr. Ranney, what is the matter with that
girl? Ask her to join us." I got another chair and asked the girl to
come over and sit beside the lady, who asked her how she came to be
there, and why she was crying.
At that the girl began to cry harder and sobbed as though her heart
would break. After she became a little more quiet she said, "You look
like my mother, and I'll never see her again! Oh, I wish I was dead!" We
asked her why she didn't go home to her mother. She cried out, "I can't!
They won't let me! And if I could get away how could I get to
Cincinnati, Ohio, where my mother lives?"
We got her story from the girl, and this is how it ran: She got into
conversation with a well-dressed woman in Cincinnati one day who said
that she could get her a position as stenographer and typewriter at a
fine salary. After telling her mother about it, she and the woman
started for New York, the woman paying the fare. The woman gave her an
address of a party, but when the poor girl got there, there was no job
for a typewriter; it was a very different position. The young girl had
been lured from home on false promises, and here she was a "white slave"
through no fault of her own.
A difficult situation confronted us. The girl was in trouble and needed
help, and what were we going to do about it? She was as pretty a girl as
I ever saw, with large black eyes, a regular Southern type of beauty,
and just beginning the downward career. That means, as the girls on the
Bowery put it, first the Tenderloin, then the white lights and lots of
so-called pleasure, until her beauty begins to fade, which usually takes
about a year. Second, Fourteenth Street, a little lower down the grade.
Third, the Bowery, still lower, where they get nothing but blows and
kicks. The fourth and last step, some joint like this, the back room of
a saloon, down and out, all respect gone, nothing to live for; some
mother's girl picked up some morning frozen stiff; the patrol, the
morgue, and then Potter's Field. Some mother away in a country town is
waiting for her girl who never comes back.
God help the mothers who read this, for it's true. Look to your girls
and don't trust the first strange woman who comes into your house, for
she may be a wolf in sheep's clothing. She wants your daughter's fresh
young beauty, that's her trade, and the Devil pays good and plenty.
I asked the girl whether she had any friends near, and she said she had
an aunt living on Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, that she thought might
take her. Then looking around the room she said, "But he won't let me go
anyhow." I followed her look, and there standing with his back to the
wall was a man I knew. Here was this young girl made to slave and earn a
living for this cur! There's lots of it done in New York--well-dressed
men doing no work, living on the earnings of young girls.
We got the address of the aunt in Philadelphia, and I went out and sent
a message over the wire, asking if she would receive Annie if she came
to Philadelphia. I received an answer in forty-two minutes saying,
"Yes, send her on. I'll meet her at the station."
I hurried back, thanking God for the answer, and found them sitting at
the same table. Annie was looking better than when we first met her. I
said, "It's all right; her aunt will take care of her; now all we have
to do is to get her to the ferry and buy her ticket."
There was a tap on my shoulder, and looking around I saw the man she had
pointed out, and he said, "You want to keep your hands off that girl,
Dan, or there's going to be trouble." Now I knew this kind of man; I
knew he would do me if he got a chance, and he was a big fellow at that;
but I thought I could hold my own with him or any of his class. I didn't
mind what he said; all I was thinking about was getting the girl to
Cortlandt Street Ferry.
When we got on our feet to make a start he came over and said, "She
don't go out of this place; if she does there's going to be trouble." I
said, "Well, if you're looking for trouble you will get all that's
coming to you, and you'll get it good and plenty." And I started toward
the door. He came after me, asking me what I was going to do. I said,
"I'm not going to bother with you, I'm merely going to get a couple of
'Bulls'--policemen--and they will give you all the trouble you want. But
that girl goes with me."
He weakened. He knew his record was bad and he did not want to go up to
300 Mulberry Street (Police Headquarters), so he said, "All right,
Danny, take her, but you are doing me dirty."
We got down to the ferry all right, and the lady and I went to
Philadelphia and placed Annie in her aunt's house and bid her good-by.
Frequently I get a letter from Cincinnati from Annie. She is home with
her mother, and a team of oxen couldn't pull her away from home again.
She writes, "God bless and keep you, Dan! I thank God for the night you
found me on the Bowery!"
"TELL HER THE LATCH-STRING IS OUT"
I was in a Baptist church one Sunday night speaking before a large
audience and had in the course of my talk told the above story. The
meeting had been a grand one. I felt that God had been with us all the
way through. I noticed one man in particular in the audience while I was
telling this story. Tears were running down his cheeks and he was
greatly agitated. I was shaking hands all around after the meeting was
over when this man came and said, "Mr. Ranney, can I have a little talk
with you?" I said, "Yes." "Wait till I get the pastor," he said, and in
a few minutes the minister joined us in the vestry. The man could not
speak. I saw there was something on his heart and mind, and wondered
what it could be. I've had lots of men come and tell me all about
themselves, how they were going to give up stealing, drinking, and all
other sins, but here was something different, so I waited. He tried to
speak, but could only sob. Finally he cried out with a choking sob,
"Sister!" The minister's hand went out to his shoulder, mine also, and
we tried to comfort him; I never saw a man in such agony. After a little
he told this story:
"Mr. Ranney, I am sure God sent you here to-night. I had a lovely
sister; she may be living yet; I don't know. Seventeen years ago she
went out to take a music lesson, and we have never laid eyes on her
since, and have never had the first line from her. Oh, if I only knew
where she is! She was one of the sweetest girls you ever saw, just like
the girl you spoke about to-night. She was enticed away from home by a
man old enough to be her father, who left his own family to starve. I've
hunted for them all over. I've never passed a poor girl on the street
without giving a helping hand, always thinking of my own sweet sister,
who might perhaps be in worse circumstances. Mr. Ranney, will you
promise me whenever you tell that story--which I hope will be very
often--just to mention that girl who left a New Jersey town some years
ago? Say that mother is waiting for her daughter with arms open. Say the
latch-string is out and there's a welcome. Perhaps--who can tell?--you
may be the means of sending that daughter back to home and mother!"
He gave me his name and address, the girl's name also, and I promised
what he wanted. Would to God this book might be the means of uniting
these separated ones and sending the gray-haired mother home to heaven
rejoicing! Oh, how many a mother's girl is in bondage to-night for the
want of a helping hand and some kind friend to give advice!
[Illustration: READING ROOM, SQUIRREL INN.]
[Illustration: MEN'S CLUB AT CHURCH OF SEA AND LAND.]